Granny on Board

by Harper Lin

  Well, only two of the Bar Belles hobbled. The other two more or less walked, and Tony Iron strutted, actually strutted. I thought people weren’t allowed to strut after they were eligible for a senior citizen’s discount.

  After that we headed upstairs to our deck, marveling at being inside a ship that looked for all the world like a five-star hotel. We made it to our cabins, which were right next to each other. Octavian stopped and turned to me.

  “Let’s get settled in, and then we’ll meet in half an hour. We can go on deck to watch the ship leave port.”

  “All right.”

  He gave me a peck on the cheek.

  “Oh, look at the lovebirds! Already getting romantic, and we haven’t even left port yet.”

  I turned to see a woman in her sixties in front of a gaggle of similarly aged women. They all wore bright sundresses and looked like a moving flowerbed. All had dye jobs to rival Tony Iron’s. The woman who had spoken, who sported hair that was blond beyond her years, smiled and extended her hand.

  “Hello, I’m Georgina.”

  And that was how we met Georgina Branch. That was when the whole trip got complicated.

  Three

  Georgina Branch gave us a warm smile and said, “We’re all in the same hall here. These are my friends,” she said, motioning vaguely behind her. “We all took cabins in the same hall so we could make sure we’re all having fun. We were wondering who got the other two cabins on B Deck, Hall 5, and now we know!”

  We introduced ourselves. As the other women—there were five of them—started to introduce themselves, Georgina cut in.

  “We’re all just getting settled in, and we were planning on meeting back here in twenty minutes so we can go up on deck and get the best spot for seeing the ship leave port. Want to come?”

  Octavian and I looked at each other and shrugged. That was very close to our plan.

  “We’d be honored, ladies,” Octavian said, making a slight bow.

  Georgina smiled. Her gaggle of friends giggled. A bow may have been old-fashioned even when we were kids, but there’s something about it that gets into a woman’s heart.

  We all split up and went to our respective cabins. I have to say, I was impressed. Other than a porthole for a window and a slight curve in the outer wall, it looked just like a regular, if undersized, hotel room. Besides a comfy bed (complete with a chocolate on the pillow, an essential ingredient to any good hotel stay), there was a small table and two chairs, a decent-sized closet, and a small bathroom with a shower but no tub. There was also a big-screen TV that looked ungainly on the small stretch of wall allowed for it. The thing would probably hurt my eyes if I turned it on. It didn’t matter, I hardly watched television at home, let alone when I was on vacation.

  I unpacked, freshened up, and took a peek out my porthole. It gave a good view of our pier and a freighter unloading shipping containers at the next pier over. The porthole was too small for me to fit through, and there was no second porthole in the bathroom. Yes, an odd thought, but my CIA training had made looking for a back exit an automatic reaction. This cabin was a dead end. That unsettled me somewhat.

  Coming back into the hallway, I found Georgina Branch and her coterie already there. They had made an admiring circle around Octavian, who was flashing them his winning smile.

  “Ah! There she is,” Georgina said. “You need to be on time if you want to keep up with the fun! Let’s go on deck.”

  I slipped through the crowd of Octavian’s admirers and was rewarded with Octavian’s hand around my waist. He usually didn’t do that; he was obviously sending a signal to our new friends.

  Fine by me.

  Georgina was right. Going up on deck a bit early did get us a good spot. We beat the crowd and ended up right on the prow. Well, almost on the prow. The very tip of the prow was chained off with a notice saying, “Imitating scenes from Titanic is not allowed, as it poses a safety risk.”

  They could have added that recalling a film where a luxury liner sinks and hundreds of people drown is probably not the best way to keep spirits up during a cruise.

  Nevertheless, we had a great spot. The sun was shining, and we looked out across a sweeping view of the harbor. Freighters and luxury yachts gleamed in the sunlight. Another cruise ship was just pulling out, slowly moving past the last of the piers and into the open sea.

  The deck began to fill up, and Georgina’s friends, whose names I still hadn’t learned, praised her for her foresight. I got the impression that they spent a lot of time praising her.

  After a few minutes, the ship’s horn blew a long, low blast that reverberated in our chests. I glanced around to see if anyone had keeled over from having their pacemakers stopped, but apparently the engineers who designed pacemakers had foreseen that senior citizens like going on cruises and made their product immune to ships’ horns.

  Slowly we began to pull out. Everyone cheered. I found myself cheering alongside them. I’m not really the cheering type. The only time I’ve spontaneously cheered was when our military transport plane left Kabul airport many years before.

  If you ever took off successfully from Kabul airport, you’d cheer too.

  Kabul is surrounded by mountains, and while we held the city, the Taliban held the mountains. So anytime a plane took off from the airport, it would attract several Stinger antiaircraft missiles. These are heat-seeking missiles, so the plane would take off, ascending in a tight corkscrew while spitting out flares from the back. The Taliban’s missiles would shoot out of hidden spots on the mountainsides like oversized bottle rockets, tracing a fiery arc through the pale-blue sky, and then usually would get distracted by one of the flares, thus missing the plane. Usually. It’s quite a sight if you’re safely observing from the ground. Not so pretty if you’re in the plane.

  It was my first flight out of Kabul, and since I was the only woman on board, the pilot and copilot let me sit in a spare seat in the cockpit. There are no other windows on military transport planes. I thought they were doing me a courtesy. It turned out that courtesy was a form of hazing.

  As we trundled down the runway, I realized that every Taliban in those mountains with a missile handy was smiling and gauging our trajectory. Not a comfortable feeling.

  “Here we go,” the pilot said. “Hold on to your panties.”

  Sexist commentary was so common in the armed forces, I almost didn’t hear him.

  Far sooner than I thought he would, the pilot yanked on the controls, and we shot into the air. He almost did it too soon, and we dropped, with a sickening lurch, within a few yards of the tarmac.

  But then the plane got the wind beneath its wings, and up we went, twisting and rising, the sun dazzling my eyes and spinning around in my vision. How the pilot saw what he was doing, I have no idea.

  To avoid being blinded, I looked to the side just in time to see the first of the Stingers shooting straight for us.

  I almost let out a yelp, but the panties comment made me keep my cool, at least externally.

  “Incoming,” I said in as calm a voice as I could muster.

  “There always is,” the pilot said.

  The copilot chimed in. “If Mitch and I both get killed, do you think you could land this thing?”

  “No sweat. How hard could it be?” I replied.

  The Stinger was getting closer by the second. With us corkscrewing into the sky, I only got to see it for a couple of seconds at every turn. The pilot and copilot didn’t even look at it.

  The next time it spun into view, it was almost on us, and I saw three more in the background, heading our way.

  The missiles spun out of sight, and I laid even odds on us blowing up before we turned enough for me to see them again.

  We did turn, but I did not see the first one, only the later three.

  Then I realized why. The copilot with the bad sense of humor was hitting a button marked FLARES faster than a kid about to beat the high score on an arcade game.

  The missile had gotte
n distracted, or we had flown out of its trajectory, or something. Whatever happened, we were still alive.

  “Keep pushing that button,” I said.

  He stopped pressing it. “What button?”

  “That button!”

  He looked confused. The remaining three Stingers shot closer.

  “Which button?” he asked, indicating a panel full of buttons.

  “The one marked FLARES, you idiot!”

  He put on a dumb face. “I can’t read. I’m too much of an idiot.”

  I said several unladylike, unprintable things and started jabbing at that button faster than a kid about to … well, you know.

  The pilot and copilot cackled with laughter. Mitch, the pilot, still corkscrewing the plane into the air, pulled out a fifth of whiskey, opened it with his teeth, and took a swig before handing it to his copilot. The copilot took an even bigger swig and handed it to me.

  “Stop screwing around, and get us out of here!” I shouted.

  “Stop wasting flares,” the pilot said.

  He leveled out. I peeked down and saw the last Stinger pass harmlessly below us.

  I cheered. The pilot and copilot cheered. We finished the whiskey and cheered some more. Then I shared some breath mints in case an officer came into the cockpit.

  So I do cheer on occasion, but it usually takes a lot more than pulling out of port on a floating hotel filled with senior citizens.

  It took me a moment to figure out why I was cheering. It wasn’t that everyone around me was cheering. I’m not one of the herd. After all, on the gangway, everyone had been complaining, and I had decided to do something more positive, not to mention more useful. No, what I was cheering about was that I had realized I was at a new beginning.

  At seventy-one, with a wonderful husband passed away and an exciting career over, I was starting a new life. I had a fine boyfriend, a lovely family, a fair semblance of health, and plenty of years ahead of me to do whatever I wanted.

  After James passed, I felt directionless. Retiring had been a hard knock. We had both been devoted to our careers in the CIA, but we had each other, and so we pushed on. Then he had died of a sudden heart attack. After all those gunfights, all those terrifying situations in war zones the general public hadn’t even heard of, he had been struck down by the most common of all causes. It had taken a few years for me to finally get my life back together. Moving to Cheerville to be with my family had been the first step. Making friends was an important second step. Joining a gym and regaining some of my fitness was the third.

  And now, I realized, being with Octavian was the final step.

  As everyone cheered and waved at the indifferent longshoremen on the pier, I turned and gave Octavian our first full kiss on the lips.

  Octavian embraced me, and I discovered that he was quite the kisser. Such a good kisser that my ears started ringing.

  Oh, wait, that was from the loud cheers all around us.

  I had forgotten about Georgina Branch and her followers. They were cheering us.

  We looked at them, slightly flustered, but we didn’t let go of each other.

  The ship sailed out of port, and we breathed in the fresh sea air. It seemed like we were sailing into calm, sunny waters, and nothing, absolutely nothing, could possibly go wrong.

  If only.

  Four

  Things started going wrong only a few minutes after we left port.

  We were still on deck, and Georgina was busy organizing everyone’s holiday, picking out all sorts of activities for us to do. They were a few years younger than we were but at about the same level of fitness and decided that the morning yoga session would be a good start to the day. When Octavian mentioned he did yoga three times a week, Georgina felt vindicated. Then there was salsa dancing and swimming and the nightly concerts by Tony Iron and the Bar Belles, and once we got down to the islands, there would be plenty of shore trips. It looked like Georgina had our entire trip planned for us.

  I’d always rankled under that sort of treatment. Orders from a superior officer were one thing, but having some pushy alpha female in a seniors’ social circle trying to run every moment of our lives was quite another. The thing was, all her ideas were good ones, and she was one of those instantly likeable people who was easy to follow. Feeling giddy from the discovery of Octavian’s skill at kissing made me pretty easygoing too.

  The easygoing atmosphere disappeared with the snarling words, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Georgina Branch issuing orders again!”

  We turned. Standing nearby was a woman of about our age, hands on hips, frown on face, venom on lips. She was remarkable for two things—her height and her terrible fashion sense. She stood six feet four inches and had a heavy frame. I don’t mean this as a euphemism for being fat. She was more bulky and broad shouldered than overweight. I suspected she had been an athlete in her younger years. Although it wasn’t easy to tell, considering what she was wearing. She had on a shapeless denim dress that looked like a tent on her.

  Georgina smiled. “Hello, Maggie. Fancy meeting you here! I didn’t know you were coming on this cruise.”

  “Like hell you didn’t.”

  Georgina looked shocked. “Don’t blaspheme. You know it offends Charlotte.”

  I didn’t know who Charlotte was. I supposed she was one of Georgina’s coterie. I still hadn’t learned the names of all these people.

  “You knew very well I was on this cruise,” Maggie said. “That’s why you booked it—to ruin my vacation just like you ruined my life!”

  “Nonsense,” Georgina said. “Why would your vacation be of any importance to me?”

  Maggie reddened. She turned to us.

  “So, I see Georgina has a couple of new recruits. Has she managed to destroy your happiness yet?”

  “Um …” Octavian and I said in unison. We were still arm in arm. What does one say when someone asks you that after the first passionate kiss of your relationship?

  “That’s enough!” Georgina shouted. “You’re not welcome here, Maggie.”

  At that point everyone started shouting at the same time, even the usually silent Georgina followers.

  “This is our cue to leave,” Octavian said quietly into my ear.

  “Oh yes,” I said loudly enough for people to hear. “I almost forgot. We need to talk to the bursar.”

  “Oh right, the bursar. Let’s go,” Octavian said.

  No one paid us the least attention. We moved along the deck through the crowd, still hearing the sounds of the argument behind us, and headed inside.

  “Whew! What was all that about?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure out what a bursar does.”

  “It’s the person who controls money on the ship. He’s like a paymaster.”

  “Oh. Why would we need to see him?”

  “Because he got us out of there.”

  “Good man. I’ll buy him a drink the next time I see him,” Octavian said. He stopped and turned to me, his hands on my shoulders. “I’m so happy you said yes to this cruise.”

  I smiled. “I’m happy I came.”

  “Promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t let anyone get murdered. People are always getting murdered around you. It’s invigorating, I’ll admit, but I’d rather have a relaxing vacation.”

  “But I’m not the one doing the murdering.”

  A couple passing by glanced at us curiously.

  “True, but the death rate around you is truly astonishing. That’s one of the reasons I asked you along. I was worried Cheerville was in danger of getting depopulated.”

  “All right, no murders.”

  Octavian looked relieved. “Good. Let’s get something to eat. There’s a twenty-four-hour buffet.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “With you around, it probably is.”

  We had a lovely lunch and then wandered around the ship. Octavian had been on many cruises, but
this was my first, so I was curious about my new surroundings. Blame my situational awareness, but I spent just as much time looking at fire-escape plans and wondering about unmarked doors as I did admiring the view out the portholes or being impressed by the facilities.

  And impressive they were. The casino looked like a smaller version of any of the top-money vampires in Las Vegas. The restaurant where we made our dinner reservations boasted a Michelin rating. The pool was huge, and there were several heart-shaped Jacuzzis. I saw Octavian looking at them speculatively.

  After exploring the superstructure, we delved into the lower decks. I could tell Octavian wasn’t interested in this part, but he knew I was curious. As we wandered around the maze of hallways and stairs, he commented, “This ship is only about half-full.”

  “Really? It seems pretty crowded to me.”

  “Most of these doors don’t have a ‘do not disturb’ sign or ‘room service’ sign hanging from the knob.”

  “Hmmm, good point. You’re turning into quite the detective.”

  Octavian smiled. A man is never too old to have his ego stroked.

  After a while, we went back up on deck to enjoy the view. The shore had dwindled to a distant line, and ahead of us stretched only sea. The deck wasn’t as crowded as before, although there was a keen game of shuffleboard going on. I saw money changing hands.

  “Want to play?” Octavian asked.

  “No.”

  Octavian was a bit of a gambler. I didn’t like this aspect of his personality, but there were worse vices.

  “That’s all right, neither do I. Look how they’re arguing about who scored what. I’m not partial to seniors’ cruises per se, but the all-ages cruises tend to get too many loud drunks and even louder children. That’s worse than crabby arguments over shuffleboard any day.”

  “A penny for your thoughts, and a nickel for using ‘per se’ in casual conversation.”

  We spent the afternoon sunning ourselves on deck and drinking cocktails served by white-uniformed waiters who somehow knew the precise moment to ask if we wanted refills and otherwise left us alone. This whole cruise thing wasn’t so bad. I could get used to this.